


On Falling in Love and Falling Apart

by theicequeenwrites



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Allison-centric, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, F/F, Falling In Love, Gen, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Love Confessions, Minor Injuries, Negative Self Talk, OOpS!, Pining, Post-Divorce, Ruby Tuesday's love confession, Vomiting, non graphic breakdowns, remember: there's no timeline to healing, these sports gays are also fashion gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29645541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theicequeenwrites/pseuds/theicequeenwrites
Summary: All things considered, Allison might be falling apart after her divorce. Just not for the right reasons (like being in love, just not with her almost ex husband and the terrifying prospect of being known). Struggling to regain her balance, Allison falls into work to try and forget, only to be rudely brought back to reality. Andrew is there for her every step of the way, shoving her towards the right direction and the right person.Or, Allison has loved Renee since they were sophomores in neon orange, doesn't know how to cope, and makes a surprising best friend along the way.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Andrew Minyard & Allison Reynolds, Andrew Minyard & Allison Reynolds & Renee Walker, Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Renee Walker & Katelyn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	On Falling in Love and Falling Apart

Often, Allison found herself asking where she went wrong in her life. When it all went to complete and utter shit.

Sometimes, the answers were clear: wearing pink instead of gold to her parents New Year’s Eve party, wearing a shirt with a neckline too low, walking in on her brother giving a blow job, getting too drunk that night with Renee and Dan. But this time she just can’t piece it together.

Everything she conquered, and a man was going to knock her down. Typical, she thinks. Fitting, she thinks.

Instinctively, she reaches down and pulls out her phone.

(7:34) Beck just sent me divorce papers. To my office. How fucking rude?

Allison types out, Renee’s name staring up at her, the black pixels searing into her soul. She deletes the text with much more vigor than she typed it with. Something about seeing Renee‘s name makes her chest twist. Why, she’s not sure. She lets the phone clatter onto the wet granite of the bathroom countertop. It slips into the sink basin, she hopes it drowns and never turns back on.

 _Liar._ Her mind chimes in.

Allison grips the beveled edge, cold rock biting into her sweating palms, and grips so hard her knuckles turn paper white. She inspects her face for imperfections, if there are she can’t find any. All she sees is perfect eyeliner and hollow eyes. Dead eyes. As empty as they were in high school. She steps back and pinches her blouse behind her back; her waist is still small and the outline of abs are still there beneath her shirt. The long scar down her left thigh and knee feels like fire.

She considers calling her assistant and saying she’s taking the rest of the day off. The sorry look on her face is ingrained in Allison’s mind. Instead, she grabs her phone and texts the original Foxes group chat.

(7:34) Thoughts on a trip to a cabin? Spouses and kids welcome, I’m paying. Find a date that works.

Renee, of course answers first:  
_(7:35) i can get a week off any time!_

_Liar._

Allison stares at her reflection. This time, she sees a wrinkle in the corner of her eye, the slight left lean of her nose.

 _Liar. Worthless._  
{}  
Three weeks later the Foxes are gathered in a large cabin in North Carolina, sprawled across the collection of couches and chairs in the main living area. The sun is long past down and the wall of windows that usually showed a bubbling stream and orange-red trees only reflected back their tangle of limbs.

Andrew and Neil sit knotted together in a love seat, a sea of black and grey limbs with matching expressions of distant amusement. Dan and Matt sit with their daughter passed out across their laps, her curls pressing to her face with the heat of the room. Aaron and Katelyn sit separated by Kevin and Nicky who has Erik on a video call and is waving around his phone. Allison smiles to herself, it’s perfect. It’s chaotic, as it should be, and brings back the feeling of safety that’s sorely missing from her life.

“Are you good, Ally?” Dan calls. Her cheeks are shining with glitter that Nicky procured from somewhere and doused them all with, and her eyes with joy, despite being one of only two sober people there. Even Neil had been sipping on a glass of whiskey all night.

Allison sighs. She takes a deep sip of her margarita, draining it until all that’s left is the crushed ice dyed pink. She called and they assembled, she should have known someone would have asked eventually. “I,” she says. She looks around the room, at the Foxes, her Foxes. Her eyes land on Renee. Her constant through college, through Seth and the mafia and her mind numbing degree. Of course. She takes a deep breath, squeezes her eyes closed. “Am getting a divorce.”

She forces her eyes open. A laugh bubbles in her throat and she can’t choke it back. It spills through her painted lips, horrible and manic, a broken sound that doesn’t even sound like her. She reaches for the bottle of Grey Goose and takes a burning swig from the bottle. It comes away stained purple, she smirks at it as if it cares. Vaguely she registers the Foxes giving her their condolences, their pitying stares, the vicious way some of them curse out Beck. It all floats past her, her eyes locked on pastel purple in white blonde.

_Liar, liar, liar._

She excuses herself, fingers clutched around the frosted glass neck of the bottle and stumbles up the stairs.

Later, Allison is sitting in her dark room, silk nightgown leaving her arms to break out in goosebumps and staring at the door. She’s not certain how long she’s been there but her eyes are adjusted to the darkness enough that she can see the leaves carved into the wood. There’s a brief knock on the door, light raps, before it cracks open.

Allison has to squint against the light from the hallway. She can barely make out the sight of Renee; hair tied back and wearing a cropped Foxes game jersey. Backlit like an angel, Allison feels worse than better looking at her. _Why?_ She asks herself. She should be curled up with Renee right now, eating ice cream but the sight of her is a blockage in her airway.

“Can I come in?” Renee asks softly. She shifts, leaning against the door and smiling sweetly.

_Why?_

_You know._

_I don’t._

_You do._

_I don’t._

_Liar, liar, liar._ Allison bites the inside of her cheeks and says yes. Renee slips in, leaving the door cracked. Allison can see every movement Renee makes because of it. She forces herself not to wince, not to reach for the bottle of Grey Goose that she stuck in the nightstand drawer.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Renee asks softly. Everything she does is soft, so soft. Allison felt like a double edged sword next to her.

Allison sighs, rubs tiredly at her eye. The movement drains her remaining dregs of energy. She slumps against Renee, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of Renee’s neck, a strand of purple hair tickling her temple. “I tried,” she whispers.

Renee shuffles closer, somehow, into Allison. She scoops up Allison’s legs and massages the backs of her calves in her tantalizing way. Allison almost falls apart. _Liar, liar, liar._ “I tried,” Allison repeats. She laughs humorlessly under her breath. “I never thought I would be the washed up has-been who got divorced at 28 but here we are.”

Renee’s fingers hit a knot and she mewls pathetically. “You’re not washed up. Or a has-been.”

“I don’t know why I’m so broken up about this,” she admits, wiping tears off her cheeks.

“He was your husband. You loved him,” Renee says -softly, so fucking softly.

Allison laughs, not hysterically like earlier, sadly this time. “No, I don’t think I did.”

Renee’s hands pause, resting heavily on her skin. She doesn’t read into it, doesn’t think about the subtext, and certainly doesn’t think about how Renee’s skin feels on hers. Her fingers restart as if nothing ever happened. “Oh?”

“Oh,” Allison says blandly. She closes her eyes and breathes in the familiar smell of honey and old books.

“Care to explain?”

Allison shrugs, the movement disrupted by Renee’s ribs. “I don’t think I know how to love someone. Not really, anyways.”

“That’s not true,” Renee admonishes. Her voice has a subtle heat that she picks up when she really cares about something. “You loved Seth. You love me.”

“Yeah,” Allison says, around a lump that feels like glass in her throat. _Yeah_. “You’re you though.”

 _Liar, liar, liar_. Allison feels Renee start to say something. “Stay,” Allison says before she gets the chance. Renee does.  
{}  
Allison is sitting in her jet, waiting for takeoff, sketches laying neglected on her fold-down tray. She stares out the window, the colorful leaves searing into her mind, distracting her from anything else. Her phone goes off. She winces, but picks it up. It’s Neil, shockingly enough.

**(10:32)Are you okay?**

(10:33)Better than ever

**(10:33)Are you sure? Do you want to come to Utah with us?**

(10:35)I would really rather not. I’m fine, swear to the fashion gods.

**(10:36)Okay.**

She sets her phone down and doesn’t think about anything until she’s touching down in New York  
{}  
Allison’s office is dark, all lights off, only the lights front the city down below illuminating the room. Her skirt is hitched around her waist, flashing her black panties to the empty room as she inspects the scar on her leg. Its long past healed, long past ruined her professional exy career. The sight of it still irks her though, a constant reminder of that horrible night and the horrible crunch.

She fishes her phone out from one of the drawers and dials her gym partner Jessica. “Hey,” she says when the ringing stops.

“Hiyah,” Jess says. Her voice is always so perky, even early in the morning. God, Allison hates mornings. “What’s up?”

Allison slumps forward, her forehead lightly hitting the desk calendar spread out in front of her. Pink words blurred under her crossed eyes. “I want to lift today. Can you spot me?”

Jess made a surprised little noise that Allison had no problem ignoring. “Um, sure. I can’t go six today. How does six thirty sound?”

Allison shakes her head, trying to focus on her words instead of how six thirty at Fox Tower was always time to leave for dinner as a group or when Renee and Andrew would slip away for fighting. “Sounds fine. I owe you.”

“Nonsense,” Jess says with a giggle, “anytime.”

Allison manages to wrap up the conversation coherently before passing out on her desk, long blonde waves getting flattened between her head and paper.

Allison gets to the gym at five forty-five like she would any other day when she had a gym session with Jess. She puts her bag in her locker, kicks her rain slick boots onto the bottom shelf and pulls her high top Converse off the shelf. She goes to flick the door shut like she’s done a hundred other times, but her eyes catch on a picture of Dan, Renee, and her in the weight room at PSU. She remembers that day. They had just finished their last weight training session before their second Championship game, they were high on adrenaline and potential, covered in sweat and orange paraphernalia.

She drops her shoes to the cracking tile floor below, and stares at the picture. In the background, Aaron and Kevin were spotting each other and a freshman was squirting water at Nicky. She misses the chaos of the Foxes, even if she just saw them at their impromptu reunion. She pushes the door closed gently and ties on her shoes, pink and embroidered with little flowers that were a gift from Dan, with a small smile on her face.

When Jess gets through the front door of the gym, Allison has already done a core circuit and more squats than she can count. A look that Allison can’t quite place flashes across Jess’ face but she says nothing, only waves and holds up one finger before disappearing into the lockers. She reemerges wearing a matching Lululemon legging and bra set, determination on her face.

They take turns going through their reps, helping correct forms and ease weight bars into the racks again until Jess is as sweaty as Allison is and their set is done. They leave the main room, ducking into a viewing alcove where they can see the ballet intensive was going on below. “Is your apartment still shitty?” Allison asks, her breath still huffy from exertion.

Jessica gives her a strange look over her shoulder. “Yeah,” she says. Her face still holds a pink tint over her apple cheeks. “I swear there’s a rat colony somewhere in that building.”

Perfect. “Move in with me,” Allison blurts out. She had had a speech plan but that was out of the picture now, apparently.

Jess raises an eyebrow at her. “What about your husband?”

Allison groans, letting her head fall back against the painted concrete block wall. “I didn’t tell you.”

“No,” Jessica says, drawing it out curiously.

“We’re getting a divorce,” the words still taste bitter in her mouth. “I’m selling the penthouse.”

Jess’ shock is clear in her face, her pink mouth round and eyes wide. Allison mentally kicks herself, she needs to stop. _Sinner, sinner, sinner._

“Yeah,” Allison concludes lamely. Jessica nods, a furrow forming between her brows.

“God,” she says. Allison isn’t naive enough to miss the pity in her voice. “I didn’t see that coming. You guys were like gods.”

Allison supposes that’s true. She remembers feeling like a goddess on her wedding day, when she was draped in ivory and gold, an eight carat ring in her finger. She felt invincible, on top of the world. She felt like that most of their courtship and early years of marriage: unstoppable, perfect, indestructible. They had been a power couple, the billionaire heir and exy-turned-designer powerhouse. They rocked events and runways, photoshoots and ads. They made sense together socially and economically, that didn’t breed love or respect.

“Being married to a blonde CEO doesn’t make the temptation of blonde assistants go away apparently,” Allison says with brazen distaste and self-deprecation.

Jessica winces. “What an asshole. We should go slash his tires.”

“Tempting but I’ve left my days of crime behind.”

Jessica laughs at that. “Wanna look at apartments this weekend?”

Allison beams. “We can make that work.”  
{}  
Allison’s heels make a satisfying click on the tiled hallways of the third floor of her office building. She never tired of that: her building, her company, her empire. The third floor houses the interns, drafters, and collection curators. She had plagued her assistant, Mindy, this week with requests for files on the curators and drafters and spent hours going through every decision they had ever made.

And it had all accumulated to this. She was building her dream team, the group of designers that was going to bring AJR into infamy levels of Versace and Prada. She could taste the success on her tongue, hear the jealous comments of everyone who had doubted her. She was ready.

She pushes the door into the office space open, a collection of heads and shoulders visible over half walled cubicles. The receptionist for the floor bobs her head in greeting and then squeaks out: “Ms. Reynolds!”

The movement in the room stops and she feels all eyes on her. For a second, she feels like she just won a game, the final buzzer blaring, the elation of victory. “Carry on,” she says, her voice effortlessly filling the room. She nods at the receptionist and plunges in, ambling down the aisles, her heels making threatening clicks alongside hushed whispers. She slips into the cubicle of Laura Sho and leaves a card on the desk. She continues her walk, leaving similar cards on the desks of four others. She leaves without another word.

At six o’clock, when the office should be empty of everyone besides security, the incase of emergency press manager, and custodial staff, five people stand in front of her desk trying to stand still with varying levels of success. She walks in after she knows they’re gathered there. She’s shed her expensive dress and heel for an old neon orange Foxes windbreaker and cutoff New York Rats sweatpants that reveal most of her scar from the exy accident.

Tyler stands ramrod straight only his eyes moving around the room. Giselle trembles like a leaf. Allison puts her feet back on the ground and stands up. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here tonight,” she says, walking slowly around the group until she’s in front of them. Her knee is killing her from a few consecutive days in heels, the sneakers a welcome release. She can feel their eyes on the slanting scar, a purply-pink that has refused to fade even with the most expensive scar creams.

Anne nods sharply, her old eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“You,” Allison says, “are my dream team.”

The five look amongst each other. “What does that mean now, Miss Reynolds?” Anne asks, her words drawn out around her deep accent.

Allison beams. “Thank you for asking. None of you applied here to curate collections and eliminate bad sketches for the rest of your careers. AJR is great, but it could be better. We’re going to make it better. I’ve scoured your portfolios, looked at sketches you’ve posted in online forums and tossed into recycling bins and have decided you’re going to help me escalate this brand.”

“What’s in it for us?” Brady asks. She hates his pretentiousness but his vision is cutting edge, he’s going to push them far.

“You’re going to help design runway dresses, make pieces that get sold world wide,” she says. No risk no reward. “And as long as you keep collaborating with me on the main lines, I’ll let you put out a line once a year completely in your own name using all of my resources, supporters, connections.”

It’s too good to resist. No one is going to say no.

No one says no.

She claps her hands together. “Let’s get started.”  
{}  
Beck has been gone from the apartment for almost two and a half months now and coming home to a cold house hasn't gotten easier. The emptiness fills Allison just like how she imagines poison fills veins. She kicks her shoes off by the door, tosses her purse onto the kitchen island, all without turning on the lights. By the light from the microwave, she pulls out a bottle of wine and a premade salad.

It’s sad. Pathetic really. Despite everyone's constant reassurances she wasn’t failing miserably at the game of life, she certainly felt like she was. She was in a multi-million dollar penthouse, wearing clothes from two award winning exy teams and expensive jewellery, yet she couldn’t conjure up any emotion besides anger, bitterness, exhaustion.

_Liar, worthless, sinner._

She sips wine from the bottle and opens her phone to her messages and clicks into the thread with Renee. She’s purposefully not thinking, refusing the persistent slam of thoughts and feeling against her brain.

(8:58) Hey

_(9:00) hello allison, how are you_

Allison chuckles to herself, her lips quirking upwards ever so slightly at Renee’s distinct texting style. (9:00) Drinking alone in my dark apartment? Is that pathetic?

_(9:00) decidedly not. perhaps not the healthiest coping mechanism but understandable_

(9:01) Probably

She types I don’t know what to do Renee then deletes it swiftly. She turns on Dan’s old pregame playlist and lets her wimpy phone speakers fill the house.

(9:10) How’s your life going

_(9:10) splendidly. my old peace corps partner just had a baby and my neighbor is getting married soon_

(9:11) Yeah, but how are *you*

Allison stares at the blindingly white screen while the three bubbles pop up and down, taunting her. Frustration builds in her chest until she takes all the might in her arm, all the anger in her body, and hurls her phone across the room. With a satisfying thud and crack it hits the junction of drywall and marble.

_Liar, sinner, liar, sinner._

She’ll get the screen replaced in the morning like nothing. She caps the wine, tosses the uneaten salad back in her fridge and tugs her sneakers back on.

She runs through New York City with no protection, not even a cell phone or pepper spray. She’s practically asking for it, teasing the universe and all muggers hidden in dark alleys.  
{}  
Working with the dream team is quickly Allison’s favorite part of the day. There’s no phone calls with investors and deals negotiated. It’s simply fashion and designs and charcoal smeared on skin. Sometimes they meet in the big conference room, with floor to ceiling windows facing the busy roads below, sometimes they huddle in Allison’s office all crammed together. Either way, there’s always something fierce and creative in the air that makes Allison’s hair stand and her heart feel like it's finally beating.

Anne and Tyler are packing up now, the last two standing. The clock on the wall indicates its long past closing time, she pays a hell of a lot in overtime but she doesn’t care. “Are you leaving boss lady?” Tyler asks with his ever present easygoing smile.

She laughs, twirling her pencil between her fingers. She likes late night sessions, when everyone can get out of their stuffy office clothes and be their most creative selves, which for her switches between immaculate outfits and worn out loungewear. She’s sitting on her desk, where she was holding court from. “Nah, I’m gonna finish this sketch. Text me when you get home.”

Perhaps it’s weird, but she cares about these five. Wants to make sure they don’t get kidnapped on their way home from her late night sessions. Tyler nods and waves as he heads out. Anne stays, her canvas bag slung over her shoulder and her plum colored lips pursed tightly. “Now, Miss Allison,” she says, voice condescending in the sweetest way. “Have you been eating? You look thin.”

Allison looks down at herself. “I’ve been busy,” she says in lieu of an answer.

Anne tsks at her. “Now baby, that’s no way to live. Let me make you dinner.”

Allison looks at the clock. 10:37. ( _8:37 in Phoenix, where Renee lives_ , her mind adds unprompted.) It’s glass surface reflecting her face against the lights of the city below. It makes her look weary, older than she is. “Fine, fine, okay,” Allison says. She slides off her desk, puts her pencils away as Anne watches patiently. She takes in the half-finished sketch, pastel flowers floating from the shoulders, a short bob messily drawn onto the model.

_Liar, liar, liar._

She grabs her purse and coat, and follows Anne down the dimly lit hallway. “We’re gonna have to take the subway, I definitely don’t have a car,” she says with a soft chuckle.

Allison watches the way their reflections wiggle surreally in the metal of the elevator doors. “Nonsense, we can take my car.”

“That’s too much trouble.”

Allison holds her hand up. “I’d have to come get it anyway. It’s okay, really, I know how to parallel park.”

It turns out that Anne’s building has a little underground parking lot. Allison’s cherry red BMW is the only car there. She ignores Anne’s fidgety stare as she clicks the lock, and lets herself be led up to the seventh floor. The apartment is worn, tracks in the carpet from frequent use, cracked linoleum, and iron bars over the window. Allison doesn’t care, she did her time in shitty rentals trying to make her stash last until she could come into her inheritance.

“I’ve been saving that bonus and all that overtime to try and get a new place. I can’t have my grandbabies over here, it’s not safe for them,” Anne says, setting her purse down and going straight to the kitchen.

Allison wanders into the living room, where the wall behind the television is covered with pictures. Most are of Anne, her sons, and her grandkids. There are a few candids of Anne and a few group photos of a group of young girls in a tropical setting. Allison’s eyes stick on a picture of the dream team eating pizza in the middle of the swatch room, which is taped onto the wall next to a framed picture of Allison and Anne on the day of the fashion show Anne organized as her final internship project. Allison remembers being fiercely proud that night; she had been the only one willing to take a chance on a single mother with three kids for a fashion internship, and she hadn’t regretted her choice. She goes back to the picture of the young girls. “Is this you?” she calls out even though she recognizes Anne’s smile.

Anne looks over her shoulder at where Allison is pointing and sighs. Allison knows that sigh well, the weariness that comes with thinking of the could have beens and what ifs. “Jamaica,” she says. “That’s where I’m from.”

“That’s my middle name,” Allison says absently, her eyes tracing the picture again and again until she’s sure she’ll never forget their happy smiles and the way the girls clutch at each other.

“What?” Anne says.

Allison looks over and sees Anne setting plates on the table. Allison sits down in a folding chair and tries to focus on the amazing scent of the food. It really does look good. “Yeah. My parents…”

Anne pours them water from a pitcher and then looks at Allison like she’s waiting for the rest of the story.

“My parents own a bunch of resorts, all around the world. My mothers favorite one is in Jamaica.” That’s when the idea hits her. She smiles, all cat-like and scheming. “You should go stay at the resort, visit anyone you know who still lives there.”

“Oh I don’t know,” Anne says, easing herself into the seat across from Allison. “My savings-”

“-It’s on me. Completely.”

Anne looks at her suspiciously. One eyebrow is cocked in an astute question. Allison smirks back at her. “Fine, take it as a business trip. Go relax and get inspired for your first solo line.”

Anne’s eyes get that sparkle that anyone has when they hear they’re getting their own line: determination and pride all wrapped up in a touch of smugness.

They eat in silence after Anne leads them in a short prayer that reminds Allison of loud dinners in their dorm room with Renee leading prayer. Allison appreciates the food, she’s been surviving off of cold meals left in her fridge by the chef that comes in once a week and leaves stacks of containers marked with dates and little smiley faces. At least when she was still married (well, correction, when she wasn’t about to be divorced) Beck would pop in and heat the food up.

“Are you okay, Miss Allison?” Anne asks.

Allison almost doesn’t hear her. She blinks, snapping herself out of her thoughts and plasters a smile on her face, trying her best to look happy. She probably fails. She twirls her fork round and round in the collard greens and blinks, trying to fight back the tears.

“Oh baby,” Anne says. She pushes her chair back. It makes a dull squeak against the flooring that grates against Allison’s nerves. Allison feels Anne’s hands on her shoulders, her cheeks. She hears her murmuring to her, over and over. She sits there, trying to catch the pieces of herself fling around her head. She hears ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you’re okay’ and once, ‘you’re heart is broken’.

Like a glow stick being cracked into, Allison breaks. With a choking gasp, tears well over her eyes and falls down her face. Anne’s hands are still a steadying presence on her, her sweet nothings keeping her in this realm.

Allison sobs, like she hasn’t in years, scratching at her chest and throat. She can’t breath, she’s positive she isn’t breathing. Anne pulls her into her chest, her warm skin probably the first human contact Allison has had since she saw the Foxes weeks ago. When Allison manages to stop crying, only those small hiccuping sobs consuming her every other breath Anne asks her what’s wrong.

“My marriage is over,” she admits, “and I don’t know what to do next.”

She looks at the rings on her ring finger. There’s a platinum band with pave diamonds from the wedding ceremony and a huge diamond from their engagement in Bora Bora. She runs her finger along the edge of the diamond subconsciously, a habit she’s grown in the years of wearing it.

Anne hums at her, rocking back on her heel. They’re still kneeling on the floor, from where Allison’s sobbing dragged them down too. “I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that isn’t the full story.”

Allison hiccups again, tears threatening to start all over again.

_Sinner, liar, worthless. Liar, liar, liar._

Allison shakes her head. “Nope, that’s it. Just the menial problems of the upper class,” she chokes out, ignoring the way her heart aches with the words. _Liar, liar, liar._

Anne gives her a suspicious glance but lets it drop. Allison lets Anne pile her with lemon pound cake for dessert and when she leaves she walks straight past the garage. She’s alone on a downtrodden street, full from dinner and tired from tears, yet she looks down at her feet, sees her sneakers and starts to run.

By the time she’s run fourteen miles in just over an hour and standing in the lobby of her apartment, she’s dripping sweat from head to two, beet red, and crying again. The concierge lady gives her a strange look that Allison ignores and keys in the private code to her penthouse. She stumbles through the walkway, slams her hip into the corner of the kitchen island -payback for walking in the dark-, and just manages to clutch the rim of the sink before heaving up the contents of her stomach.

 _Liar, worthless, worthless, liar._  
{}  
“Did you like the one was saw on Tuesday?” Jessica asks Allison from the other side of the flimsy shower stall divider. It’s shitty enough that, if Allison chose to look, she would see the silhouette of her body shining through. Allison doesn’t though, she keeps her eyes on the candy pink bottle of shampoo in front of her.

“Yeah,” Allison says dispassionately. She steps forward and lets the lukewarm water rinse the suds off her body. “It was good.”

It was, by New York City standards. She preferred it to the penthouse almost, its quaint interior and thin walls reminding her of Fox Tower rather than her stifling childhood.

“Good,” Jessica says. Her shower spray cuts off and her head pokes around the divider, her thick dark hair in a messy pom-pom on the top of her hair. “I was thinking we should get it.”

Allison keeps her eyes trained forward and focuses on keeping her face from turning red. “Sure,” she says. She shuts off her own water, dragging out the process of packing up her shower caddy unnecessarily. “We can sign this weekend.”

Jessica beams at her. Allison has to swallow down the knot in her chest.  
{}  
Thursday, Allison lets the dream team work in her office, even though she leaves right at five, her mind anywhere but her body.

She spends hours getting ready for no particular reason other than she wants to feel worth it again. She curls her hair, then blows it out and pins it back until it frames her face in wispy curls. She does her makeup with artistic precision until she glows gold and orange. (Orange, like PSU, gold like winning championships, like-)

When she leaves the penthouse, the sun is down and her car is idling, the concierge stepping out once she spots Allison. Allison pulls up at the grimy club with fierce determination, she is going to have a good time. Whether it kills her or not.

She puts three shots on her tab then downs them. She spends an hour batting her eyelashes at a suit, her lips smirking around the straw of the cosmopolitan he bought her. By the time he’s gone and she stands up, she is warm with the alcohol and ready.

The dance floor is an easy place to get lost. Everyone is nameless and faceless. Even the most diehard exy or fashion fanatics couldn’t recognize her here. She holds hands with a tall girl with broad shoulders and green eyes that Allison can’t look away from while they jump up and down to a fast song. She moves her hips with a guy to a slower song with lyrics in Spanish that she only understands part of.

When she stumbles off the dance floor, the guy follows her. He picks up the cost of her drink and raises his glass to her. She meets it halfway and they talk about everything and nothing while he sips a beer and she plays with her whiskey. His lips are soft when they kiss, he tastes like wheat and mint. He grabs her waist with the right amount of pressure, brushes his fingers against the nape of her neck in a way that makes a shiver shoot down her spine.

They part, sucking in air. Allison runs her fingers down his cheek, his neck, rests it right where his heart is. He looks down, and she sees him freeze. “I’m not a fucking homewrecker,” she snarls, eye flashing. He grips her wrist, twisting it in a way that _hurts_ , and shoves her back.

She stumbles, the inches of heels and too much to drink catching up with her. She distantly hears him calling her a whore as tears well in her eyes.

“Making out with a taken girl, who do you think I am?” he says.

“I’m getting a fucking divorce,” she screams at him. She swears her days of violence are over, but she reaches out and pushes him, heel of her hand to his chest. He stumbles and something dark flares up in her chest; it feels sinfully good and dangerously unsatisfied. She yanks her rings off, wincing at how her fingers have bloated from the alcohol and slams them onto the sticky bartop. She can feel the eyes of the nearby bar goers staring, sees the guy’s mouth moving. She turns to leave, then whirls back around and snatches her rings.

She doesn’t say that her heart’s taken, just not by her almost ex husband.

It’s not until she’s bursting into the cold, late March air in only a sequined minidress does she realizes she’s crying. She wipes her eyes half heartedly, smearing her makeup. She doesn’t bother with her car, she’ll send someone for it later. She walks through the streets towards a small pawn shop she passes all the time as she goes on with her life. No one gives the girl with messed up makeup and streaming tears a second glance; this is New York City and they’re all just ants.

She pushes the door open with too much force and the clerk at the peeling formica countertop startles. He gives her a pitying glance, she can’t find it in her too care. She puts the ring on the counter, stares at the guy with every emotion she can muster.

_Liar, worthless, liar, worthless._

He slips on gloves and picks up the ring. Even in the fluorescent light, her engagement ring shines. Its fucking huge, she has to admit, and a little gaudy, now that’s she’s looking at it from an outside perspective. “Who broke your heart, girl?” the clerk mutters, testing her ring with a diamond tester.

Allison chuckles, a small sound filled with mirth. She looks to the ceiling, little boards of crumbling cork and plastic. “The world,” she says. She can’t fight off another small giggle. “The world.”

He gives her three quarters of a million dollars for the rings, which is surprisingly not the most cash she’s ever had on her body at one time. She leaves the shop and winces at the night air. Maybe she’s sobered up, or her adrenaline high has ended, but the cold is nearly intolerable.

She rounds the building into the alley and hurls her drinks and light dinner into a pothole. She leans against the brick building, her bad knee threatening to give out as her whole body trembles like a leaf. She pulls out her phone.  
{}  
“Allison?”

A tired sigh. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay? Isn’t it like one in the morning over there?”

“Dan. _Dan_. I’ve been lying. I’m a liar.”

“Are you drunk, Allison?”

A sniffle, maybe a muffled sob. “Dan, I don’t know what to do.”

“Allison, do you need me to send you an Uber?”

“I’m okay. I already called a Lyft.” Another maybe sob-sniffle, followed by a derisive laugh.

“Do you want to talk about… whatever this is?”

“I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t wake up Matt or Alana.”

“Nonsense. Ally is in bed and Matt’s at a game. He was worried when you didn’t text him good luck today.”

A harsh snort. “Well tell him I’m fucking sorry, okay? Really fucking sorry.”

“Allison.”

“I’m fucking sorry! Really. Fucking. Sorry.” Softer: “To you too, Dan.”

“Why? Why are you sorry?”

“Because I’m a liar, Dan. and I don’t know if that’s worse than...it.”

“It?”

A full fledged sob. “Yeah. Yeah, it. God, I -I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do Dan.”

“Do you want to come stay with us for a little bit? Or maybe Renee?”

A fit of sobs, interspersed with coughing and strangled laughing. “My Lyft is here I have to go.”

“Text me-”

“-When I get home. Will do Cap.”  
{}  
(1:47) humw  
(1:47) homr  
(1:48)home  
…  
(9:16) Sorry about last night. Love you + the fam  
{}  
“Are you okay? You seem off,” Jessica says, her hand fluttering nervously around the rack behind Allison.

Allison grunts, pushing the bar above her head, and holding it for a second, before dropping it to the ground. The plates make an echoing crash against each other. In the mirror, Allison sees her hair sticking out around her face, her chest red with exertion, the scar down her leg angry looking today. It hurts too, aching and stabbing pain all rolled into one intolerable mess. Maybe she should put some cream on it or call her physical therapist. (She won’t do either, not that it matters.)

She shakes out her leg and smiles at Jess. “Better than ever,” she says and the look Jess gives her makes it clear she knows it's a lie.

“Are you ready to move this weekend? I know I can’t be ready enough to leave the rats,” Jess says with a small chuckle. She bends down to take some of the weights off the bar and Allison averts her eyes.

_Sinner, sinner, sinner._

“Readier than you think,” she replies, tightening her ponytail and with it, her will.  
{}  
When Allison Skypes the Foxes, Jessica sits next to her. She gels easily with the Foxes and excitedly helps Allison give the tour and ads to the pot about whether Dan and Matt’s baby is going to be a boy or a girl. Most people are Team Boy, Allison so far is the only Team Girl, which is better since she’ll have to split the money less ways when she wins.

Jessica leaves for her night shift at the hospital, clad in her pink scrubs. Allison stays on with a few of the Foxes a little while longer, catching up and joking around. She’s the last to log off, looking at the little doodled Fox courtesy of Neil that’s the group’s symbol in the app. She stares at it and thinks, forces herself to admit.

She turns the words around in her mouth, thinks them so much she’s certain she’s never going to forget them. Certain they’ll never be untrue again. She almost says them outloud, but stops herself. That makes it too real. Her brain chimes in with:

_Liar, liar, liar. Worthless sinning sinner._

When she zones back into reality her phone is blowing up from some work scandal. She dismisses the issue to her dream team and her assistant, claiming she doesn’t feel good. She’s fine though, physically.

There’s two more texts on her phone once she’s dismissed the work issue. One from Dan:

**_(6:36) glad you’re making friends in nyc. Jess seems really nice. I’m always here for you if you need anything, remember that._ **

And one from Renee. _(7:00) your roommate sees lovely. I think we would be great friends_

They would be great friends because they’re so similar, Allison thinks vaguely. She types out _I miss you_ and then _I need you_ and then a hundred other things she needs to say but can’t, won’t. Same difference really. In the end she says thank you and can’t escape the voice chanting _liar_ in her head as she tries to stomach some pasta.  
{}  
Allison wishes that her problems will resolve themselves but they don’t. The finalization of the divorce papers comes and she doesn’t feel better, she lifts 450 pounds for the first time since she left exy because of her injury and everything is the same, she and her dream team come up with a concept for their first line, and Anne announces the theme for her first solo line and absolutely nothing is different.

_Liar, liar, liar. Lies, all lies._

None of it fixes the maw in her chest. Pandora’s box never recloses, she figures. She's doomed to live like this for the rest of her life. A burden rattling around her chest where her heart should be. She fields off texts as rarely as she can without raising suspicion. Every text Renee sends is burnt into her brain for days on end. The pixels there even when she closes her eyes, drinks a bottle of wine, does anything to forget.

She thinks she would do anything to forget.

_Liar, liar, liar._

In her office, she can pretend she’s put together. She can hold meetings and sign deals and sketch pieces that aren't dark like her current mindset, but light and floral like-

In her office, she’s alone and safe. So alone. So, so alone.

In her office, she presses her palms together, wrists to her chest and tries to pray to Renee’s god. She begs for atonement, forgiveness, redemption, penance, anything. She begs to be whole again, to forget. To not feel this way. When she opens her eyes she feels no different, but has a seed of understanding in her chest. This will never go away, this is how the world spins, who she is, who she loves.

In her office, Allison’s mouth forms the words Renee Walker and she says them outloud for the first time in a very long while.

_Sinner, sinner, sinner._

But a girl who is hell on Earth does not deserve the girl who is all things kind and good. Not even in her wildest dreams.  
{}  
A habit she picked up from Neil is running. After it was clear he was staying with the Foxes, not going anywhere anytime soon, they started running together in the mornings. They would run until the sun was up and Neil’s phone rang meaning Andrew was up and checking to make sure he hadn’t been kidnapped. Sometimes, they ran in silence at a punishing pace. Sometimes they ran slower with occasional small talk.

Today, the wind is whipping about. So hard, Allison has to braid her hair back and pull on a beanie so it won’t cloud her vision. A recent cold snap made it so she can’t go out without proper gear. She finds herself suiting up before the sun is up, something that definitely died once her exy career did. As a CEO, she prides herself on never getting up before the sun. Today though her skin is itching. Her mind is being relentless, chanting liar and sinner over and over, her heart beating out of her chest.

Allison is convinced she’s losing it. Even in the movies when the love is unrequited and everything is going wrong, the main characters never look as bad as she does right now. Her face is too thin and she feels achy, too tired and too sick to eat much. Allison is well aware that she’s ruining her life. She can’t find it to care because… Well because there's nothing she can do. There’s no faults she can focus on until she’s blue in the face and every man she’s brought to her bed hasn’t made her forget.

She can’t forget.

 _Liar, liar, liar_.

So she slips out of the apartment with her phone strapped to her thigh and wireless headphones blaring sad songs in her ears and pepper spray tucked neatly between her tits. She sets a loose pace, dodging between tourists and business people on the sidewalk feeling like she’s on the court again, dodging the defense trying to get the ball up court. She runs until she can’t focus on anything but her feet hitting the pavement, the background music in ehr ears, the pavement in front of her.

In that moment she knows why Neil loves to run, why people run marathons until they break. In that moment, Allison knows with all clarity that something needs to bend or she’s going to break.

But, she’s stubborn. She keeps going. She runs until she isn’t sure where she is or what time it is. She doesn’t mind the buzzing on her thigh. She is free, she is fast, she is somewhere other than the confines of her mind.

She comes to sprawled on the couch in the living room of her new apartment. Her entire body aches but from the waist down she’s practically on fire. Her knee, which never really recovered from that one slam into the plexiglass wall, throbs, shooting pain up her femur and the scar. She feels crusted over from sweat and drained rain. She looks down and sees her once white shoes blood red.

The next time she wakes up Jess is perched on the edge of the couch a bottle of Tylenol and a bottle of water sitting across from the table. There’s a warm cloth pressed to Allison’s forehead. “Allison,” Jessica breathes out when their eyes meet.

Allison coughs when she tries to talk. Jess helps her sit up and tips the water down her throat. Allison realizes the Tylenol on the table is the baby type, the too sweet liquid that Allison hated as a child. “Don’t look at me like that,” Jessica says, her mouth drawn into a tight line and voice serious. “It’s not my fault that you disappeared for hours and came back covered in blood.” She pours a decent amount into a small cup and holds it to Allison's lips. “Drink.”

Allison does because the pain is overwhelming and she's desperate for relief. From this, from everything.

“Allison, what was this?” Jess asks, stern nurse gone and caring friend back.

Allions’s lungs quiver in her chest, that burden where her heart should be is rattling back to life. “I’ve been having a hard time.”

“I know, but why didn’t you say anything. I could have helped, your Foxes could have.”

Allison thinks about her stilted conversations with them over the past half year during her divorce and subsequent… breakdown. “I didn’t think it was too bad.”

Jessica sighs, pushing the strands of her fine black hair behind her ear. The pieces slip right back out just like-

“I wish you would take better care of yourself,” Jess whispers. She stands up, picks the Tylenol up and looks down at Allison sadly. “Your friend is coming for you. He said he’ll call me when his flight lands.”

Allison closes her eyes and thinks about how fucking depserate she must have been to crash into an alley somewhere, pull her phone out and call Andrew (and by extension Neil) for help. That’s all she remembers, besides leaving and starting to run, is calling Andrew in near tears begging for him to come and get her.  
{}  
The next time Allison wakes up Andrew is lounging on the chaise of the couch, a baking show on television while Jessica cooks in the kitchen. Andrew looks at her when she sits up then turns back to the TV.

“You’re up,” Jessica says without looking. “Take your shoes off when you’re ready, I need to look at your feet before you leave.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow at her when she doesn’t right away. She leans forward and tugs the once soft and now crunchy shoes off. Her socks are caked to her feet with dried blood. She doesn't even know where it's from. Andrew inhales sharply besides her but doesn’t say anything.

When Jessica comes over with her first aid kit, Andrew steps onto the balcony to make a call and light a cigarette. Allison watches him gesture his hands, cell phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, then hisses at the water touching her feet. “Fucking hell,” she says.

Jessica gives her a look that says ‘shut up and take it’ so she does. The blood is gone and large blisters line her feet where she once had hard calluses. New tears spout and she’s powerless to stop them.

_Worthless, worthless, worthless._

Andrew comes back in, struggling with the jammed door and pauses in front of her. He takes her in, calm and calculating. “I just booked our return flight. Jessica packed some of your stuff.”

“Aren’t you going to call me stupid or something? Give me a Shakespearean insult?” Allison hisses at him.

He looks on at her placidly. “Your mental breakdown does not amuse me, Reynolds. Quite the opposite in fact. Wilds was in stitches when she heard.”

Allison winces. She forgot other people care so deeply about her, that someone would hurt from her decision. _Worthless nuisance_ , her mind tells her. She beats it down with a stick. She looks up at Andrew. He looks different somehow, from last time she saw him. She can’t place it though. “You flew here.”

“I did.”

Allison doesn’t point out he hates flying or say thank you. But when they get to the airport she says she’ll be paying for their flights upgrade to first class and hands over her card without batting an eye to start Andrew a tab at the bar. She doesn’t drink, she stares out the window and tries not to dwell.  
{}  
Allison stands behind Andrew as he unlocks the front door. Her bags stand next to them on the porch and the early dawn is turning the sky wondrous shades of orange and pink. They’re both tired and stale from the flight, Andrew even more so; Allison’s sure he hasn’t slept in at least a day and a half.

As soon as the door is open a fraction of an inch Allison hears Neil yell, “King! You douchebag!” and then is promptly attacked by King. Andrew snorts lightly at that but doesn’t pry King off of her. He takes her bags inside and Allison lowers herself onto the deck to give King the affection he’s clearly deprived of.

“Don’t let him fool you, we feed him _and_ scoop his litter box,” Neil says, leaning against the door jamb with a soft smile on his face.

Allison stands up, cradling King to her chest. She headbuts Neil lightly, having to bend down a ridiculous amount to do so then steps into the house. Andrew runs permanent cold so it's always pleasantly warm in their house and this morning is no different.

Andrew comes back down the stairs in fresh clothes. “Did you make breakfast?”

Neil smiles dopily and nods. “I made us eggs sandwiches and fruit salad.”

That doesn’t sound bad at all to Allison but Andrew scowls. He sits down at the breakfast bar anyways and pecks Neil’s lips when he hands over a plate. “Pancakes never hurt anyone.”

“Tell that to Stacey.”

Allison sits next to Andrew and accepts a plate from Neil as well. “How was your flight? Sorry I couldn’t make it but I had a mandatory meeting with my PR lady.”

Something like a wry smile passes across Andrew’s face and he quickly hides it with a forkful of berries.

“It was good, not a lot of turbulence.”

Allison slips out of the conversation, content to let Andrew and Neil catch up about the sixteen hours they’ve been apart. She picks at her food, the berries the sweetest thing she’s had in months besides the rose wine that Jess keeps in the cabinet above the fridge that Allison always steals.

“Renee called just before you guys got here, said she’s taking off in a few hours, she had a meeting she couldn’t miss and Dan and Matt can’t leave until she talks to her OB,” she hears Neil telling Andrew.

Allison’s head snaps up. “What?”

Neil gives Andrew a strong look that Andrew understands immediately. He gives Neil a look right back that Allison roughly translates to: she’s your friend and this is your problem.

Her chest tightens painfully, the little amount of food she managed to eat feels like lead in her stomach. “What do you mean Neil?” she asks, like there's any other meaning to what he could have said.

The Foxes are coming and he tells her as much, “Everyone is really worried about you. They want to check in on you and spend some time together.”

“I didn’t ask them to!” Allison says, nearing hysterics. Her head is swimming with the beginnings of something nasty and she’s gripping onto the counter to keep herself from falling over.

Neil levels her a flat stare. “And I didn’t ask the Foxes to fight the FBI for me but you did. And Dan didn’t ask for people to help her when Alana was born but we did. This is what family does.”

“Says the boy with no family,” Allison snaps.

Neil’s face goes blank and on Andrew’s otherwise passive face his eyebrows rise enough to show shock. Somehow, that’s the last straw. She pushes herself onto her feet so quickly the room spins around her and her stool falls with a clatter that sends Sir and King diving under the couch. She’s only been to Andrew and Neil’s house twice before but sheer desperation takes her to the bathroom.

She falls to her knees, narrowly avoiding hitting her head on the edge of the vanity, and vomits into the toilet. She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and rocks back on her heels.

_Worthless, worthless, worthless._

She groans. She thinks about standing up but she’s too shaky for that and the thought of facing people is gut wrenching, so she shifts onto her butt and leans against the cool porcelain of the tub. She ties her hair back so the loose pieces don’t stick to her clammy skin and contemplates taking a nap on the bathroom floor.

The door opens, out of the corner of her eye Allison sees Andrew leaning with his back against the jamb. Allison looks away. Andrew steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him with a kick of his foot and sits on the countertop. “Have you been making yourself sick?” he asks like he’s asking her about the best brand of honey or the weather forecast for next Tuesday.

Allison shuts her eyes like that will make his inquisitive stare go away. “Fuck off Minyard.”

“If you didn’t want to end up in this situation you shouldn’t have called me at six in the morning begging for me to help you. And if that was somehow a fluke, then I shouldn’t have gotten to your apartment to find you passed out with blood everywhere,” he says. His eyes flash as he talks and Allison bites back a groan accompanying her newest realization.

Objectively, Allison knew Andrew got her phone call and flew to New York. only, the more she thinks about it, Andrew must have been worried as hell to impromptuly fly nearly cross country for her. For her. He did that _for her_. “What did I say?”

He blinks. “What?”

“When I called you. What did I say?”

Andrew shrugs and starts to tell her and she begins to remember.

_Allison veered off the path on Central Park, leaning against a wide tree that didn’t appear to have any vicious squirrels living in it. The sun is up now and the vendors were starting to open their stalls for the nannies and children and tourists to buy from. Allison watched it all unfold, her own mind so far from her body all she caught were glimpses of thoughts. Her fingers are numb from the cold as she forgot her gloves. She fumbled with the strap on her thigh and liberated her phone, her fingers shaking as she typed in her passcode. She dialed Renee, then pressed the red hang up button before it even began to ring. She contemplated calling Dan, but Dan is enormously pregnant by now and probably clinging onto sleep._

_Somehow, that led to Andrew. The phone rang forever long, dull chimes in her ear, so long Allison was sure he isn’t going to answer._

_“What?” he asked drily._

_“I think I’m dying,” she rasped._

_She heard a shuffling on the other side of the line. “What?”_

_“I- Andrew, I don’t know what to do. I can’t, I can’t -I just can’t.”_

_“Allison, are you in danger?”_

_“No. no, I’m fine,” she said with a tiny sniffle. “I just- I think I’m losing control.”_

_“Where are you?”_

_“Andrew help me. Help me.” She cuts herself off before she says please. She’s distraught but not an antagonist._

_The line is quiet. Alliosn hears muffled whispers like the phone has been pushed into a pillow while Andrew talks to Neil. Vaguely she remembers that it’s only six in Utah._

_“Andrew,” she whispers. “Andrew.” Like his name will save her, like she can cling onto it and stay afloat. “Help me. I don’t deserve it but I don’t know what to do. I’m so lost. Pl- ”_

_Allison hears the cracking of bones and the creak of feet on wood floors. “Don’t say that. You haven't done anything wrong, and even if you did that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get help.”_

_“Andrew, come get me.”_

_“Allison-”_

_“I need- I need-”_

_“Allison-”_

_“Andrew-”_

_“Allison I can’t just-”_

_“Andrew I’m begging you, help me. I don’t know how long- if I cant- I can’t-”_

_“Go home Allison. I’ll be there soon.”_

_Allison hung up her phone, looking at the people beginning to fill the park. She pushed off the tree and started running._

Allison lurches forward, gripping the sides of the toilet as she gags. Instead of being disgusted or leaving, Andrew does what Allison expects least: he slides off the counter, kneels next to her and holds back her hair. His knuckles are cool on the back of her neck and his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her back makes the burning in her throat from bile slightly more tolerable. She heaves one last time and crumples backwards.

Andrew catches her and drapes her back against the ledge of the tub. He hands her a messily ripped piece of toilet paper. She almost protests when he leaves the room but stops herself. She is imposing on his house, he doesn’t owe her anything.

Allison startles when the door opens again. Andrew is standing there with a sleeve of saltine crackers and a glass of water. He enters once she jerks her chin once at him. He settles next to her, handing her the water then helping her drink it when her hand starts shaking like a leaf. “Have you been going to therapy?”

Allison shakes her head. Andrew sighs and mutters something that sounds like ‘of course not’. They don’t speak again until Allison has eaten almost all the crackers and Andrew reaches out and takes one.

“What the fuck,” she whispers before she realizes she should have just pretended she never saw the tens of pink lines across the insides of Andrew’s wrists. She winces, she hadn’t even realized he wasn’t wearing arm bands. “Fuck, sorry.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything, he just looks at her with slightly wide eyes. _He’s scared_ , she distantly realizes, _fuck_. “We all had shitty lives and shittier coping mechanisms,” he says, looking away from her again and relaxing against the wall.

“I’ve been trying so hard,” Allison whispers. Andrew presses his shoulder against her, rock solid presence as she tries to get the words in her head into coherent sentences. “But I’m so tired.”

Andrew stands up and offers her a hand. “Let’s go sleep before everyone starts getting here.”

Without thinking, she lets him pull her up and follows him to the bedroom he shares with Neil. she stops in the doorway like a train whose tracks ended abruptly. Andrew looks over his shoulder, sizing ehr up for a second, then shrugs. He drops onto one end and she falls onto the other, and she doesn’t think about how touch starved she must be if it’s comforting to be three feet away from Andrew in a bed.  
{}  
When Allison wakes up, Andrew is gone and muted chatter from elsewhere in the house washes over her. The room feels sticky and warm, like a hazy summer memory from time long ago. She sits up slowly, the bed frame creaking slightly beneath her. She yawns as she exits the room, avoiding the mirror. As she tiptoes down the stairs, the conversation grows louder and Allison starts to recognize voices: Dan’s boisterous laugh and Matt’s deep tone, Katelyn’s high pitched words and Andrew’s sardonic quips.

Everyone stares at her when she steps into the room. She notices a desktop haphazardly set up on the entertainment center hosting a video call of Nicky and Eric.

“Hi Allison,” Katelyn says, the first one to break the tentative pause. She’s smiling softly, curled up in a folding camping chair, her oversized cardigan draped over her shoulders. “Did you sleep well?”

Allison blinks, pats down her hips and waist trying to find her phone. “I -uh- yeah, I did. How long was I down for?” She doesn’t remember setting her phone down and there’s no visible clocks in the room.

Andrew pulls a phone out of his pocket. “Give or take fourteen hours, Dan and company just got here.”

Matt snorts. “I’m not even worth a name drop. I see how it is,” he says, giving Andrew his best side eye.

And just like that it’s back to normal. Allison slips onto the edge of the loveseat, Neil scooting closer to Andrew to make room for her. She learns that Aaron had an unmissable exam and his professor wouldn’t excuse him even for ‘family emergencies’, that Dan has finally decided on a name for the new baby, and that Eric just got a promotion. Conversation flies around at a rapid face that Allison missed, it’s not overwhelming or too much, it's just what she needed.

Andrew steps out to the porch at one point and then comes back in, cheeks pink from the dr Utah heat, and announces he ordered pizza. Alana cheers and announces that Matt and Dan never let her have pizza, to which Dan rolls her eyes and says they have pizza once a week. To which Kevin brings up how bad pizza is for you and everyone starts yelling at him, Allison throws a pillow at him.

Katelyn and Renee are the first to wander off to bed, tired from their early flights and then quickly followed by Kevin who can’t stay up past eleven in his ‘old age’ as Neil says. Alana is sleeping in a tiny ball on Andrew's chest, Sir and King wrapped around her, and Dan lays with her head on Matt, staring at Allison intensely. “You know you can tell us anything, right?” Dan says, running her hands lightly up and down her stomach.

Allison puts in the effort not to groan or roll her eyes. “Of course. I-”

Dan puts up a hand. “Don’t give me that. I know you as well as I know my own hand, and I know you’re hiding something. You’ve been acting squirrely ever since that phone call.”

Allison winces at the memory. She knots her fingers together and reaches for her gone engagement ring, her fingertips only finding smooth skin. There’s a slight difference in skin tone from the band that hurts every time she looks at it. “Do you think it’s cheating to be in love with someone else?”

Matt raises an eyebrow and Dan heaves herself up into a sitting position, her eyes wide. “Who-”

Andrew cuts her off. “It depends I suppose. Did the other person enter the marriage thinking you two were in a committed, loving relationship?”

“But also, if you never act on it, is it really infidelity,” Matt chimes in, eye squinting as he thinks. “Plenty of people are married and not in love with their spouse. Some people might call it noble, staying and never cheating; others might say it's wrong to not tell your spouse.”

Everyone turns to look at Neil. Neil's brow furrows and he frowns slightly. “Well my mom didn’t love my dad and he didn’t love her and they were married. But they didn’t have a model homelife.”

Allison sighs, sinking against Neil. He gently pulls apart her fingers and laces their hands together. “I did it because I thought it was right. I- I thought I was doing the right thing,” she admits.

Dan’s face falls, her eyes pinching with that care that made her captain. She looks like she would go to war for Allison in that instant. “Why did you feel like that?”

Allison’s shoulders shake with a suppressed sob, a suppressed memory. “I had a brother. Have a brother. He got disowned a few years before I did.” Matt and Dan exchange a look and Andrew mutters something under his breath that makes Neil snort. “He got caught, with a guy, and my parents made it like he never existed. All the pictures, awards, his trust fund, gone. At least they still keep a picture of me in the family room and call me when they want free stuff.”

Allison hears Andrew suck in a sharp breath and Allison is once again struck with the fact that he cares about her. That he went to New York for her, brought her into his home. She wishes she knew how to say thank you.

“And a little bit after Beck and I first started hooking up he started taking me on...on dates,” Allison finds herself saying. Everyone knows the story, she told it so boldly since they first met, but only one side. “And it was, well it was what I was supposed to do. So we dated and he asked me to marry him and I said yes. And it was good, it wasn’t miserable or awful, we went on dates and watched TV together. He always heated up dinner and came to my games. I loved him, maybe, but I wasn’t in love with him.

“And then I found out he cheated on me through my lawyer-,”

“-the nerve of him-” Dan interrupts.

“-and I was upset, hurt I guess, because I thought our relationship was better than that. But I wasn’t heart broken, wasn’t going to commit a crime of passion or try to drain his pockets for emotional distress. I was just tired.

“Because I knew I wasn’t in love with him, never had been, because I was in love with” _Renee_ “...her,” she finishes lamely.

Neil uses his free hand to rub circles into her shoulder and Dan looks absolutely inundated with fury.

“That’s,” Matt says, finishing for words, “a lot. Definitely a lot. Why didn’t you say something soon? We could have helped you.”

“I know.” Allison is tired, so tired. Of this conversation, of this situation. “I tried, I tried to tell Dan and Andrew and Neil but I froze up everytime.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Dan asks softly.

Allison hesitates. She’s not all too surprised to find she does. “She’s amazing,” Allison says, pouring her focus into not saying Renee. “I love her and she’ll never know.”

“Why not?” Andrew asks.

That surprises her. “I… don’t know.”

“You shouldn’t have to keep it a secret, bear that weight,” Dan says.

Alana shifts on Andrew’s chest and Dan yawns. Matt looks guiltily at Allison then his Apple Watch. “I should put them to bed. But really, if you ever want to talk, we’re here for you.”

Allison nods. “I know. Good nights guys, I love you.”

“We love you too,” Dan says. Matt stands and helps her up, she leans into him subconsciously, the picture of pure and true love. Matt scoops Alana off of Andrew who immediately stretches his arms out over his head.

Allison, Neil, and Andrew watch as the trio sleepily makes their way into the basement where they’ve been crammed so they can all be together and have some privacy. Neil yawns and Andrew rolls his neck side to side, pushes the cats off his lap, and stands up. “We haven’t had the chance to set up the futon in the library yet so you can sleep here or in our room with us,” he says, holding a hand out to Neil.

Neil gives the cats forehead kisses, then takes Andrew’s hand and presses a chaste kiss to it before being yanked to his feet. They look stupidly in love, Allison thinks she may be jealous. “I don’t want to intrude on your marriage,” she says.

Neil snorts and Andrew whacks his shoulder lightly. “Andrew, do you feel like our marriage is being intruded on?”

Andrew pretends to size her up. “No. She poses no threat. Are you coming or not?”

Allison sighs and follows a step behind them up the stairs and into their bedroom. She grabs her bag and changes in the bathroom, taking her time to braid her hair and wash her face. By the time she gets back to the master bedroom, Andrew and Neil are sitting in bed journaling, because they’re adjusted adults. She feels like a child who had a nightmare and needs her parents (not that her parents were ever good for comforting or soothing nightmares).

Andrew looks up when she steps into the room. She hesitates. He puts his journal into the nightstand and looks at her until she slips into the bed. “Is this okay?” she asks.

Andrew looks surprised and quickly pushes it off his face. “It’s fine.”

“That’s my line,” Neil says. Allison isn’t looking at him but she feels him moving from her other side and hears him click off the lamp before the room goes black.

A long minute goes by, tense and heavy.

“So,” Andrew says, “who's the girl?”

Neil snorts out a laugh. “Are you trying to girl-talk with her?”

Allison giggles. “Yeah are you trying to have girl-talk?”

Andrew sighs noisily. “Would you rather we just marinate in our queerness. Y’all are being too noisy for me to sleep.”

“Don’t blame me for you being too worried about Allison to sleep,” Neil counters quickly enough that she feels this isn’t the first time they’ve had a conversation of this sort.

Andrew says something about never worrying about anything a day in his life and Neil responds that that is the biggest lie he’s ever heard. Allison interrupts them with: “It’s Renee.”

They freeze. Allison hears Neil’s huffing breaths meaning he’s trying to keep from laughing. “Renee,” Andrew says slowly. “Like our Renee?”

“No, like the pasta,” Allison says.

Neil cracks, a laugh exploding from him, sounding malformed as he tries to stop it. “Renee isn’t even a type of pasta. It’s penne.”

“I know that,” Allison snaps. She giggles despite herself, “But yes, her.”

“Ah.”

A pause. “Thoughts?” Allison asks.

“Dan owes Andrew two hundred bucks,” Neil says non-helpfully.

“You were betting on my sexuality?”

Andrew snorts. “Of course not, I wouldn’t stoop that low. I’m not above betting on your relationships though. And of course, I’m never wrong.”

“Except about which way the toilet paper goes on the roll,” Neil mutters imperceptibly.

Andrew throws a pillow at him. Neil turns on the light just to flip him off. So this is love. Allison desperately wants.

“I won’t tell her if that’s what you’re worried about,” Andrew tells her. “I’m not in the business of airing people’s laundry.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Well, if no one’s worrying and Andrew’s done being nosey, maybe, we could sleep,” Neil says, clicking off the lamp and plunging the room back into darkness.  
{}  
Allison slips down the stairs quietly, not wanting to disturb anyone. She almost steps into the kitchen, but she sees Andrew and Katelyn, hears them say her name. She presses herself against the wall, out of their line of view, but where she can see them.

Katelyn leans against the stove wearing one of Aaron’s jackets that says the name of his medical school on the breast pocket, one hand braced against the black glass and the other wrapped around a steaming mug. Andrew sits opposite of her on the counter top, peeling an orange while a cup steams next to him. “I just feel bad,” Katelyn is saying quietly.

“Why, this isn’t your problem.”

Katelyn sighs, big and laboriously. “It’s no one’s problem, Andrew, because it’s not a problem. Love isn’t a problem. It’s just a tough situation because they aren’t talking.”

“Right because you and Aaron weren’t a problem. And they are talking, Renee would have been up a wall if they weren’t.”

“We weren’t, not our relationship at least. Someone else had a problem with it,” she says pointedly. “But not like they used to. Ever since the divorce.”

“I think getting divorced is grounds for being a little weird around your friends.”

“Based on what you told me-”

“-I didn’t tell you anything you’re assuming.”

“Inferring,” Katelyn corrects. “Dan said Allison confessed last night and based on that plus the recent behaviors…”

“Could you sound anymore homophobic?”

Katelyn splutters. “I’m not. Forgive me for not wanting to out her to anyone.”

“She knows everyone in this house, it’s not like we’re at a fucking mall.”

Katelyn sighs. Allison is amazed they haven’t tried to kill each other yet. She takes a sip from her cup and Allison sees a flash on her finger. “I just feel bad.”

“For Renee.”

“For Renee. You know,” she says, and Andrew nods, he does know.

“It’s her choice though. We can’t make them do anything. Not that there is anything.”

Katelyn laughs. “Stop trying to act like I can’t read you like a book. You and Aaron have the same ticks.”

Andrew scoffs. He jumps off the counter, scoops the orange peels of the counter, and deposits them into the trash. “Appalling. Never say that again.” He turns and faces her, sizes her up and jerks his chin towards her hand. “Welcome to the family.”

Allison sweeps into the room with a smile on her face and opens the fridge. She drops her smile, what had they been talking about? “Congrats, Katelyn. You’re in for it.”

Katelyn laughs. Allison randomly pulls something out of the fridge and smiles at her. Neither of them say anything about her or what they were just talking about. She leaves without another word.  
{}  
Allison steps onto the back patio, a wine glass balancing between two fingers and a cherry flavored seltzer in the crook of her elbow. Renee is sitting serenely in a wicker chair, watching Alana and Matt play catch while Andrew and Dan grill. Her hair, now light pink from roots to tips, flutters in the wind. She looks over at Allison and a smile blooms on her face. “Hi,” she says.

Allison drops into the chair next to her and hands her the seltzer. “Hey.”

Renee inspects the can and pops it open. “Cherry’s my favorite.”

Allison rolls her eyes fondly. “I know. Wanna try my rose?”

Renee looks over her shoulder. “Sure, a sip won’t hurt.”

Allison hands over her glass, their fingers brush as Renee takes it. Her eyes close as she thinks about the taste and Allison notices ehr lip gloss left a ring on the glass. Allison very purposefully does not think about it.

_Liar, liar, liar._

Renee hands her the glass back. “Very fruity. If I drank, I think I’d enjoy a glass of it.”

“Let me know and I’ll send you a bottle.”

“How are you doing?” Renee asks, eyes on the horizon.

“As well as expected.” It’s been a week. Katelyn and Kevin left already and the skin is growing back over her blisters. “It’s peaceful here.” She’s delegated her duties as CEO and has spent that last week doing nothing but eating and meditating and spending time with the Foxes.

“Yeah. Reminds me of Mom’s. You should come next time I visit her, she misses you.”

Stephanie Walker cooked Allison the first home cooked meal she had ever had, her parents had chefs, Palmetto had dining halls, and life on her own hadn’t lent itself to cooking. She held her when Seth died and sent her cards on all the holidays. “I miss her too. I’ll be there.”

Renee smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling with it. “I heard about what you told everyone the first night.”

Allison wondered when this was coming. When the confrontation would happen and her world would explode in embers of feelings and fragments of segments. “Ah.”

“I wondered if I should be upset you didn’t tell me, but I’m not.” She looks at Allison, eyes sharp and soft at the same time. “But things have been different between us for sometime now. I’m not mad, I love you all the same Ally.”

Allison sighs. She takes a sip of her wine and waves at Alana who is staring at her intently. Alana waves back and then sprints back to Matt their game of catch. “I love you too.” Allison doesn’t dwell on the way one word changed that entire sentence.

“For solidarity, or something, I think women are wonderful as well.”

Allison chokes. Renee looks at her with one eyebrow lifted, lips in a tiny smirk. Allison thumps her chest and sucks in a deep breath. “I didn’t know that,” she settles on saying.

“I’m aware, I don’t talk about it much. But if you ever want to talk about it, you know I’ll listen.”

“I do,” Allison says, trying to screw her head back on right. To not think about Renee like that, even if she’s been failing at that task for years.

 _Liar, liar, liar_. But the words don’t sting as much, because she’s told someone. Living ehr truth and all that.

“I’m lucky to have you,” she says.

Renee gives her that trademark serene smile and says. “God works in mysterious ways,” before taking her seltzer and approaching Dan and Andrew.  
{}  
A week later, only Allison, Neil, and Andrew are still in the house and Allison has officially surpassed rested and is now antsy. It’s off season for Andrew and Neil, so they laze around watching television and tormenting anyone on Twitter who crosses their path. Their exchange with the Wendy’s account trended for three days last week and had no fewer than five trashy gossip articles written about it.

“Want to go for a run?” Neil asks her, turning off the TV. Andrew blows a raspberry at him and reaches for the remote, which Neil has stuffed between a mountain of pillows and a river of blankets.

Allison nearly leaps to her feet. Instead, she nods and tells him she’ll go change. When she comes back from the guest room, Andrew and Neil are dressed and Andrew is pouring water into bottles. “You hate running,” she says to him as he twists one closed.

“Who said I’m running.”

Sure enough, Neil opens the garage door and pulls out a pale purple cruiser bike. Andrew locks the door and takes the bike from Neil, putting his keys and bottles into the front basket. “Don’t get run over, trouble one and two,” he says, kicking one leg over the seat and pushing off. Neil and Allison take off after him, easily falling into a rhythm, winding after Andrew as he winds down streets and gravel paths.

They pause for water under an oak tree, Andrew’s bike resting against the tree as he looks disdainfully at Allison and Neil panting side by side. “I never pictured that as your style,” Allison says, waving her hand in the direction of the bike.

“He said regular bikes hurt his butt, but the cruisers didn’t come in black,” Neil says.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “300%. Purple’s a wonderful color, for your information.”

Neil tosses him the water bottle he half finished, which Andrew catches easily and places in the basket. He holds his hand out in Allison’s direction and Allison tosses her bottle to him. They set back on their way towards the house, their slapping footsteps and harsh breaths the only sounds.

When Allison is done showering and going through her, albeit somewhat extra, self care routine, Andrew and Neil are watching Say Yes to the Dress. She flops onto the couch, pulls Sir onto her lap.

Surprisingly, Andrew always knows whether or not the bride is going to pick a dress as soon as she tries it on, and can always pick out and correct the flaws on dresses. That bride? Andrew knows that silhouette doesn’t work with her body type. That dress? Andrew is correct on it needing less in the middle and more on the bottom.

They get through a few episodes when Allison pauses the episode. She goes and grabs her laptop and her stylus. She hooks it up to the TV with a few directions from Andrew on which button to hit to sync them, and hands Andrew the stylus and drawing pad. She pulls up a poorly designed dress and tells him to fix it. He changes the sleeve and lowers the waistline. She pulls up another one. He changes the lace overlap, removes some volume. Allison puts up a blank model and tells him to sketch a dress. He does, it's messy but it’s something.

“Andrew,” she says, practically reverent.

“Hey, don’t start falling in love with him over his wedding dress skills,” Neil says, who has been patiently watching this ordeal.

Allison waves him off. “Andrew, design a dress line with me.”

He looks at her impassively.

“I’ll pay you. Buy you a new car. Come on, we could dominate the next wedding season. You and my dream team are like, brilliant, we could do it.”

Andrew sighs, but his eyes flicker with what Allison thinks might be excitement. “Fine. but I’m not going to New York.”

Allison squeals, clapping her hands together. “Oh my god, you just made my day. This is amazing.”

Andrew nods. Allison considers jumping up and down. She pops onto her feet, scrabbling for her phone. “I have to call the team, I’ll rent a warehouse out here. I’m gonna add you to the group chat, be right back.”

As she steps onto the back patio, she thinks she hears Neil laughing at her.  
{}  
(2:37) Hi :)  
(2:38) Can you do me a favor??

_(2:40) Of course!! What do you need?_

Allison bites her lip, fiddling with the edge of her case, trying to find the best words.

(2:53) You inspired the line that Andrew and I are working on. Will you model in the shows?  
(2:53) You can say no

_(2:55) I inspired your line? I don’t know what to say, thank you?_  
_(2:55) I would love to model for you_

(2:56) Amazing, you’re gonna be perfect.  
(2:56) I’ll give you the details once we know them

_(3:00) Alrighty. Love you_

(5:09) I love you too.  
{}  
Andrew looks at the unassuming circle of people, all of varying ages, races, and level of effort in their outfit. He drums his fingers against his chin. “I am yours to teach, Reynolds.”

Allison claps her hand and the circle snaps to attention. They all came on the private jet Allison provided, following her to Utah for an undetermined amount of time. Perhaps it’s manipulative to demand that of them, they had a choice though. “This is Andrew, he is going to be working with us on this line. Andrew this is Tyler, Anne, Laura, Giselle, and Brady. Team this is Andrew.”

Andrew nods at them as they give various greetings.

“This is one of those crazy sports people you associate with right?” Anne asks, sizing Andrew up.

He snorts. “Do you talk about us?” he asks Allison.

“In your dreams.”

“So,” Giselle says. Her long red hair is twisted back in three buns and there's at least three empty coffee cups scattered around her. Allison is considering introducing ehr to tea and the concept of sleep. “What’s this line all about?”

Andrew smirks. “We’re designing wedding dresses.”

The room stills for a second as everyone processes that, then it explodes in a flurry of energy.

Brady has his tablet in his hand scribbling while gesturing at Laura to stand and spin. “Oh my god, I ‘ve been dreaming of this since I was six,” someone says. Someone else says: “I haven’t seen a wedding dress since like third grade.” Anne and Tyler have already started pulling up color palettes and the most recent designs from last season. Andrew and Allison stand shoulder to shoulder and watch the flurry.

“Should we start?” Allison asks.

“We should.”  
{}  
_(10:18) The line you’re designing is a wedding line_

(10:20) Yes. It is.

_(10:22) And you said I inspired it_

(10:23) You’re like the embodiment of love and weddings  
(10:24) You’re gonna be amazing. Unless you don’t want to do it?

_(10:25) No, I want to do it. It sounds fun._

_(10:30) I’m flying to Mom’s this weekend. Want to come?_

(10:33) I’d love to.  
{}  
Renee hugs Allison as soon as they’re within huggable distance of each other. Allison breathes in Renee’s warm cinnamon scent from the hot candies she always sucks on, her nose buried in the side of her hair. Renee’s fingers press tightly into Allison’s back, clinging on like she’s never letting go.

When Renee steps back, she’s beaming, her make up shining in the airport light. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Allison looks around. The airport is small and fairly empty, this area of North Dakota not getting many visitors. “I’m glad too. Thanks for inviting me.”

Renee slips her hand dismissively. “Anytime. I miss you.”

“I missed you too,” Allison says. How much, she doesn’t say.

Renee rented a small Honda for them that smells like Febreze over cigarette smoke, but Allison doesn’t care. They roll the windows down and Allison blasts her playlist over the tinny speakers as they fly down the freeway towards Stephanie’s house. Renee drives with her left hand on the wheel, elbow resting on the edge of the door, her right hand tangled with Allison’s on the center console.

Stephanie is waiting on the front porch when they roll up the driveway, a tray of lemonades besides her. She waves as they step out of the car and lug their bags up the short set of steps. She gives them both fierce hugs. “Hi girls,” she says, her accent still foreign to Allison no matter how many times she’s heard it.

After dinner, Renee and Allison force Stephanie out of the kitchen so they can do the clean up. Renee shrugs off her cardigan and Allison rolls up their sleeves and they plunge into the soapy water.

“I meant what I said,” Renee says, her deft fingers twirling a glass under the water and ridding it of soap. “I miss you. We don’t talk like we used to.”

Allison doesn’t look at her. She focuses on drying the fork she has in her hands and not confessing her undying love in a dimly lit kitchen. “It’s my fault. I could have been better.”

Renee shrugs. Her shoulder brushes against Allison’s and she burns. “I could have too. You were struggling and I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s okay, really. You have your own life to live too. A job and friends in Phoenix.”

Allison sets the fork back in the drawer full of silverware and Renee hands her the glass. Renee doesn’t say anything and Allison doesn’t push to fill the silence. She ignores herself when her brain sings _‘worthless, worthless, worthless’_ at her. She sets the glass on the shelf and looks to Renee for the next thing to dry, but Renee is just staring at her.

Her eyes are deep brown, practically black, and while Allison knows in the sun they can glow a million hues of honey and amber, in the kitchen light they’re just an intense black staring into her soul. If she had secrets, she would be scared, but Renee knows her soul through and through. “None of that is as important as you.”

Renee has always looked at Allison like she was important, like she was a pillar of strength and grace. Now, Renee looks at her like she created the galaxy with a snap of her fingers, like she’s a goddess. “None of it.”

Allison’s hands are damp from drying dishes, but she gently reaches out and brushes a strip of pale pink hair behind Renee’s ear. Distantly, she thinks they might kiss. God, she wants to. She’s never wanted anything as much as she wants to find out how her lips feel against Renee’s; not exy, not AJR to go global, not her parents to love her.

Her fingers are still lightly holding the piece of hair, her knuckle brushing against Renee’s ear. “I love you,” she says.

“I know.”

“I love you-”

“I love you too.”

“Hey girls -oh, sorry,” Stephanie says from the archway entry into the kitchen. She has her hands braced on either side or the walkway, a knowing look on her face. She looks at Allison -her hand in Renee’s hair, that look on her face- and knows; and Allison doesn’t see revulsion or hate. Stephanie almost looks pleased. “Nevermind,” she says and leaves.

Allison takes her hand back and Renee looks out the window, the moon highlighting her reflection. “New York, New Years,” Allison says. “AJR is having a party, I want you there.”

Renee looks at her, smiling softly, something in her eyes. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Allison hands the towel on the dishwasher, runs her hands over her waist. The air hands heavy between them, too much said and unsaid. “I’ll send you a plane ticket.”  
{}  
Allison storms into the warehouse on Monday as soon as her flight touches down. The door slams behind her and the dream team plus Andrew looks up at her curiously. She kicks off her sandals and joins them. Oddly enough, the tension of the weekend with Renee and Stephanie, doesn’t make her less motivated for the line. She’s more determined than ever to make it a worldwide hit.

Andrew raises an eyebrow at her. “Lovers quarrel?”

“Fuck off, Minyard,” she huffs, tapping ehr passcode into ehr tablet and pulling up the joint sketchbook for the line. “Not all of us have picturesque married lives with white fucking picket fences.”

Tyler looks at Andrew with wide eyes. “You’re married?”

Allison snorts. “He’s been married for like ever. Picture of devotion.”

“You need to calm the fuck down, Reynolds,” Andrew says, pushing his glasses onto the top of his head. “Whatever happened in North Dakota is there and not here. We have to get these designs to corporate in a week so please, gather yourself or leave.”

Allison takes a deep breath. “Okay, okay, you’re right. Sorry guys. Sorry Andrew.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “I know I’m right. Apology accepted or whatever.”

“God, sometimes it’s like you never progressed past an edgy 21 year old Minyard.”

“Anyways,” Brady says, like a judge bringing the court to order. “We think we picked the final designs but we want your approval before we start getting the dresses sewn and models chosen. T-minus eight weeks to fashion week NYC.”

He pulls up a presentation of sketches, lines in different colors to show the contributions of each designer. At the end, everyone looks at her hesitantly. “Perfect, let’s get this going.”  
{}  
Andrew is wearing blue, which is new for him, but looks absolutely stunning. He’s leaning angrily against the bar, a flute of champagne in his hand. Allison stalks up to him, giddy smile refusing to leave her face. “Lovers quarrel?” she asks mockingly.

She glares at her from the corner of his eye. “No. I hate parties like this. All suits and business. I just had a conversation about tulle versus organza. Allison, I don’t know what organza is.”

Allison laughs at that. “A seamstress, you are not.”

He tips his glass towards you. “Cheers to that.”

She taps their glasses together then sips her champagne. She stares out at the crowds of people, most still business men and women and investors. Later, the party will be more of a true New Year’s Party. The wait can’t pass quick enough.

Three painful courses later and lots of flashing pictures and hands shook, most of the coworkers and investors are gone, and the gusts start arriving. Anne brings her granddaughters who look thrilled to be there and Tyler finally introduces Allison to his boyfriend. Allison enjoys herself, talking with her friends, both new and old, but her eyes still flick around the room.

Finally, she sees a flash of ice white hair with lilac tips and extracts herself from the conversation she’s in. she pauses in front of a window, straightens the straps on her gold dress -not the one she wore the night she pawned her engagement ring- then siddles up to Renee. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Renee grins at her. She waves her hand in a circle, at the glitter and confetti, full bar and wrap around floor to ceiling windows. “This is nice.”

“Perks of being rich,” Allison says. “Are you having fun?”

Renee laughs slightly. “I don’t fit in with the rest of the models, but the food is good.”

“Don’t worry about them. You’re going to be the star of the show,” Allison says. She reaches over and snatches up a new bottle of champagne. She pops it open, ignoring the way her arm is covered in sticky liquid and refills both of their glasses. “My star.”

Renee looks at her, eyes narrowed slightly, searching. “It’s strange,” she says, then pauses. Allison looks at her. The glitter on her cheeks and lips shines in the lights. “Thinking I inspired a wedding line.”

Allison huffs out a laugh. “Don’t think about it too much.”

_Liar, liar, liar._

“Can’t promise that.”

Allison bites the inside of her cheek and risks another look at Renee. “Wanna dance?”

Renee does, because she loves to dance. They set down their drinks and wind through the crowd and move together like they have a hundred times before. Except now, it feels different. Allison is keenly aware she’s been in love with Renee since sophomore year but this is the first time they’ve danced since she’s admitted it to anyone.

They move together perfectly, Allison’s hands on Renee’s hips, Renee’s arms draped over Allison’s shoulders. They move like they were made to be slotted against each other, like they were made for each other. They move like they’re the only two, like no one else matters. Before long, the lights are dimming and the music fades and the countdown begins.

They don’t step apart, even as the count reaches six. Allison’s fingers dig into the mauve silk of Renee’s dress, pulling her closer.

They don’t step apart at three, when everyone else is pairing off for their midnight kiss. Renee’s arms circle around her neck, her fingers playing in Allison’s hair.

They don’t step apart at one, they somehow get closer. Allison’s eye shut on instinct, her face a breath away from Renee’s. Their lips brush and it’s everything Allison’s ever imagined and more. Renee’s lips are soft and she tastes like champagne and cinnamon, because of course she does. They step away when the cheering dies down and the music is back, and Renee doesn’t look guilty or ashamed, only flushed pink with glitter gloss smeared around her mouth.

“Ah,” she says, staring into Allison’s eyes, her eyes looking gold in the flashing lights.

“Yeah,” Allison whispers. She’s not sure what else there is to say.  
{}  
Andrew is wearing silver and looking downright murderous next to a triumphant looking Tyler and Giselle. They’re all wearing outfits of the same ivory and silver, most of the guys in ivory suits with silver at the hems and silver ties. Allison in an ivory jumpsuit with silver overlays and silver strands woven into her crown braid while the rest of the girls wear varying ivory and silver dresses. “Looking good Minyard,” Allison says, coming up to him. “How did you two do it?”

Giselle huffs. Her hair is in two long braids with silver flowers pinned into them and she looks ready to pass out. Allison is going to order her to sleep for the next twenty weeks once the fashion weeks are over. “Bribed with expensive whiskey and a hotel room he gets all to himself.”

Allison frowns. “I thought you already had your own hotel- nevermind, I don’t have time for this right now. We’ll fix it for London. Are the models ready, Anne? Where’s Anne?” Allison asks, realizing halfway through Anne isn’t there. Allison sighs, it’s been a long day and appears to be a long night in the making. She just wants this to be over so she and Renee can go to their hotel and order room service and watch shitty reality TV. And so she can take these strappy heels off, they’re killing her knee and it's only been six hours. “I’ll see you later, I’ve got to go apparently. Andrew make sure the Foxes are in the box, Giselle please have me a shot of something for when the show starts.”

And she’s off, trying to find Anne, shooting the lighting director last minute texts, and heading for the models. She slips backstage and sees Renee sitting in a makeup chair being dusted with a soft shimmering highlighter and having her hair lightly curled. Allison pauses, leaning against a rack of dresses, watching as Renee laughs with the models next to her.

They haven’t talked about the New Year’s kiss. They’ve talked about everything but it, Renee has stayed with Allison, and met Jessica, but they haven’t talked about it. Renee sees her in the corner of the mirror and waves her over. Allison goes of course. “Ready for the runway?” she asks, resting her hand on Renee’s shoulder and averting her eyes so she doesn’t see Renee sitting in only nude underwear.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Renee says with a shaky laugh.

Allison’s lips quirk into a slight smile. “You’ll do amazing. I’ll be right there in the front row.” She drops a kiss onto Renee’s hairline lightly enough not to leave a lipstick print. “I have to go, but I know you’re going to crush this. These dresses were made for you.”

Renee blushes and Allison _does. not. think. about. it._

By the time the models are ready and she and the dream team are in their seats, Allison feels ready to sleep standing up. She leans against Anne waiting for the lights to change and the light music they chose to start. Giselle hurries over, handing Allison a Starbucks cup and whispering that they’re on track to start in five. Allison sinks back in her seat and gets ready to watch.

The first out is a supermodel from South Carolina, her blonde curls teased out into a halo around her wearing a flowing a-line dress with bishop sleeves made of shimmering chiffon. Next a model with cascades of braids falling down her back wearing a sheath dress studded with pearls and a short veil. Then, Renee wearing a tea length dress with pastel butterflies floating up the sides and wrapping around the waist. The models keep coming, showcasing months of hard work and far too much caffeine. A dress with a train of iridescent flowers, a dress with sleeves that look like butterfly wings when you look closely, a dress with cutouts on the side filled with embroidery that looks like ivy. Renee has two outfit changes; once switching into a wedding jumpsuit with flowing pants and a round neckline lined with pearls and then into a gown with a gentle fit and flare silhouette covered in gentle yet unobtrusive lace that allows the flowered crown and the bride to shine.

When the lights raise and the crowd applauds, a sweet rush of relief passes through Allison. She and Andrew allow the dream team to pull them up onto the runway for bows and pictures and applause. But the sweetest reward is Renee, her face blotchy from the makeup remover and hair sticking out in every direction, in the back of the town car saying “You did amazing.”

“No,” Allison says with a giddy giggle, “you did amazing. You shone out there, my star.”  
{}  
London is much of the same. The same frantic rushing and same color scheme, but all slightly to the right. This time she wears a silver sheath with an ivory shawl tossed over her shoulders and the models are more comfortable with their dresses.

They get more applause though, reporters knowing what to expect, people excited to see the dresses in person. One magazine asks to do a shoot of the models in their dresses, another asks her for an interview. An oil tycoon’s daughter from Saudi Arabia, with more money and power than even she can imagine, wants to wear one of her dresses at her upcoming wedding and another at her reception.

The high is addictive, the constant shutter of cameras and signatures and people turning their heads as she walks by. She thinks she may be made for this, for the spotlight, the fame. But nothing is sweeter than the hotel room she shares with Renee sampling tea and British pastries on the days they don’t have shows to attend or places to be. She would give it all up every cent to her name, to spend everyday like that.  
{}  
Milan goes even better. Andrew gets interviewed by People and scowls the entire time. Vogue wants to do an article on her and her dream team. The models get a standing ovation at their show. The dream team shines brighter with exhilaration and pride with every camera shutter and every clap of hands. She hears their whispers of their solo lines and their next team line.

In Milan, Allison gets her and Renee the most expensive room she can get. She pops strawberry champagne for herself and stocks flavored seltzers because Renee doesn’t drink except a glass of champagne or two on New Years. She gets strawberries and pasta and has stars in her eyes.

Renee is still lovely and still beautiful and Allison is so in love with her she doesn’t know up from down, right from wrong. All she knows is pale blue hair and cinnamon candies and a cross necklace.

The night of their show, they stumble into their hotel room at three in the morning, giggling into each other. Allison manages to pop the champagne and squeals when it spills over her sandals and the hem of her pants. “Do you want a glass?” she asks breathlessly.

Renee tugs off her jacket and kicks off her boots. There’s still glitter on her chest shoulders. She looks stunning, Allison doesn’t want to look away. “Yeah sure,” Renee says.

Allison blinks but pours two glasses and brings them over to the bed. Sharing a bed doesn’t phase them, no matter what, they’re friends first. Renee sits next to her on the foot of the bed, tucking ehr feet under her and takes her glass. She sips it experimentally, then takes a more generous one.

“Every night, you amaze me,” Allison says, because this isn’t her first drink. She was plied with wine and tequila at dinner and it still buzzes in her veins despite the cold walk home and food. “Every night.”

Renee giggles, color blooming high on her cheekbones. She finishes her champagne and reaches for the bottle topping them off. “We should talk about it,” she says, one more refill later.

“What?” Allison asks like she doesn’t know. Every time she closes her eyes she remembers the way Renee looked right before the kiss, remembers the way their lips felt together.

“New Years. The kiss.”

Allison sighs and Renee winces. “Do… do you regret it?”

“No,” Allison blurts. “No. It was amazing, perfect really.”

Renee takes a deep breath. “Do you -do you want to do it again?”

Allison inhales sharply. “Gods, yes, obviously. Obviously Renee.”

Renee inches closer to her, the dress she’s wearing inching up her thighs. Allison bites her tongue. “Well, if you wanted it so bad, maybe you should have been more obvious.”

Allison lifts an eyebrow. “Oh really?” she breathes. She leans forward, placing her hand on Renee’s knee and slowly running it upwards.

“Yes,” Renee says, more of a gasp than anything.

Allison smirks. She pushes herself more onto the bed, bringing herself knee to knee with Renee and then kissing her.

Immediately, Renee kisses her back, her lips hot and soft against her own. Allison might gasp, might moan, she’s not sure. It's a haze of soft skin under her hands and strawberries and cinnamon in her mouth. Allison pulls Renee into her lap at one point, letting Renee pull her short over her head. She gasps as the chilly air hits her skin and Renee gives her a devilish smile.

“More?” she asks Allison, voice husky and pupils blown.

Allison wants, wants so bad. She’s been wanting for years. “Fuck yes.”

Renee giggles, reaching down and pulling her dress off over her head. It gets tossed aside next to Allison’s shirt and their neglected champagne flutes. “Got a mouth on you, don’t you.”

Allison almost blacks out. Instead, she grabs Renee, taking them down to the bed, lips meeting, hands roaming, perfect chaos.

If Andrew notices the matching hickeys on their necks the next morning in the airport, he’s nice enough not to mention it.  
{}  
In Paris, they get the largest turn out at their show, the most requests from the media, take so many pictures, arguably they have the most successful show of their season. But it’s all backstage to Allison, who can’t look away from Renee. She’s been staring for years, but now that she’s had a taste it’s like she is unable to see anything else.

They share a hotel room again, coexisting like best friends for the four days they’re in Paris leading up to their show. They leave the afterparty of their show early, strolling through Paris hand in hand, looking at all the famed landmarks.

They buy a gimmicky lock and add it to the bridge and stop in front of the Eiffel tower, mesmerised by its radiance and height.

“It reminds me of you,” Renee whispers, squeezing Allison’s hand.

Allison chuckles. “How exactly?”

“Tall and beautiful.”

Allison blushes and squeaks. She pulls Renee into her side, wrapping her arm around her. “Thank you, shorter but no less beautiful human.”

“That’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Ever?”

“Ever,” Renee confirms. Renee shifts so they're chest to chest, staring at each under one of the most romantic buildings in the world. “But that’s okay.”

“I’m glad,” Allison whispers.

When Renee stares at her like that she can barely breathe, let alone think straight. All she can think about is eyes and lips and pastel hair. Renee inches forward again and Allison doesn’t hesitate to connect their lips. Renee kisses her slow and sweet, caress in her face like she’s the only thing that matters.

“Wanna go back to the hotel room?” Allison breaks away to ask breathlessly. She knows she’s bright red and her hair is probably mused from where Renee keeps reaching over to play with it.

Renee giggles. “Yeah.”  
{}  
After landing in New York, Neil drags them to Ruby Tuesday’s because the flight was seven hours long after five days of chaos and they’re starving. They’re in a corner, far apart from any other guests, the usually shitty lighting even worse near their booth. The waitress is uninterested and rude but that doesn’t phase them, they’ve dealt with worse.

Neil talks about how different Europe is when you aren’t on the run from your mob-involved father and Renee talks about all the places she loved. Allison is sure she nearly filled her sim card with the amount of pictures she took.

Finally, the waitress drops their food off without a word and retreats back into the back or the restaurant where she presumably remains until they see her again nearly two hours later. Allison steals an onion ring off the side of Renee’s plate, which she allows with a small smile, and Renee switches their drinks when she thinks Allison isn’t looking.

Neil tries to steal a fry from Andrew, to which he threatens to pour a glass of ice water over him. Andrew rips his chicken into small pieces and watches Allison with careful eyes. Even after Neil’s freshman year, when they all became friends, that stare intimidated her; now, it feels like what it is, curious and searching. “It’s good to see you finally told her.”

Allison’s eyes widen and she glares at Andrew. His eyebrows shoot up, he mouths oh at her and purses his lips. Neil smirks at her and takes the moment to steal another fry from Andrew without repercussions.

“Told me what?” Renee asks, her eyes flitting between the other three. Neil leans back in his chair raising his hands. Andrew’s lips stay pursed and Allison traces the edge of her burger studiously. “Andrew?”

“I thought,” he says slowly. Allison pantomimes slitting his throat, he looks unfazed. “With all the hickeys and the… the.” He looks at Neil.

Sometimes, Allison forgets that Neil is an absolute menace, type of person to mock the mafia on live TV. Right now, is not one of those times. Neil crosses his arms on his chest with a snarky smile. “Sneaking around? Rendezvous? Sex hair?”

Renee splutters, her cheeks going pink. “You knew?” she asks Neil.

Neil shrugs. “You guys weren’t being subtle.”

Renee turns, facing Andrew with a sharp glint in her eye. “Did you tell him? Her?”

Andrew looks uneasy, which is more guilty than he ever looks. “No of course not.”

Allison cocks her head. “Oh?”

Neil huffs under his breath. All heads turn on him. “What?” Allison glares and he sighs. “I didn’t actually think people could be this slow in face of blatant clues.”

“I had to tell you I would blow you,” Andrew says at the same time Allison says: “I don’t want input from the world's most happily married man.”

Allison hears the moment Renee puts it together. She gasps softly, a sound that reminds Allison of what it’s like to be in bed with Renee which really isn’t helping her right now. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Andrew says, still looking uncomfortable and vaguely guilty.

“Oh,” Neil mocks lightly.

Allison looks over briefly and catches Renee staring at her intensely, pupil blown and staring straight into her soul. _Oh_. So she says, “Oh.”

“You,” Renee says slowly, like Allison needs this spelled out for her (although, she kind of does). “Have feelings for me. Romantic ones.”

Allison nods dumbly, because that’s the simplest explanation there is. A lot simpler than _I’ve loved you since we were eighteen, since you held my hair back while I puked from too much tequila and since you made sure I ate, since you looked at me with those eyes and that hair. I’ve been in love with you through every significant moment of my life and I’m too much of a coward to actually say it._

“And I,” Renee adds slowly, “also have romantic feelings for you.”

Allison hears Neil clapping like the audience on a sitcom, she’s aware enough to flip him off. Renee is still staring at her, so it’s back burner. “I love you,” Allison blurts.

Wow, what a feeling. She’s in love with Renee Walker, she got to say it out loud.

Renee’s sharp look curls into something softer, a small smile blooms on her face. “I love you too.”

They stare at each other, entranced. Renee’s phone goes off, startling anyone. She huffs but picks it up without looking. “Hello,” she chirps. Her face falls, something akin to terror making itself known. She hums and mutters a few out of context sentences then shakily sets her phone down. “I- have to go,” she says, already standing and tossing a twenty onto the table.

She’s out of sight by the time Allison registers that she should follow her, ask her what happened. She sighs, picks up her burger and takes a bite.

{}  
(2:16) What’s Renee’s favorite flower?

(2:30) Why the fuck are you texting me at two in the morning

(2:31) You didn’t have to answer dumbass

(2:37) Pansies  
(2:38) Stephanie likes hydrangea

(2:40) Perfect thanks. Kisses.  
{}  
Allison raps on the wooden door with a wrought iron cross on it. There are pots that will hold flowers once Spring finally comes and a bench that will be occupied with Stephanie every evening after dinner once the wind chill doesn’t bring the temperature down to twenty. She’s a second away from knocking again when the door swings open.

Renee stands there looking exhausted, purple bags under her eyes and her hair in a messy bun at the top of her head. She’s wearing an old T-shirt of Stephanie’s that fits her tiny frame like a dress. Her jaw drops a little.

Allison takes a deep breath. “I love you,” she says. “And I was a fool for never telling you before, and I was a fool for not running after you at Ruby Tuesday’s. And I know this is a sucky time for a love confession because your mom is hurt but I love you and I’m willing to stay and help if you’ll have me.” She takes another deep breath and hands Renee the pastel colored pansies, who gingerly accepts them, taking a dainty sniff. “I love you, and I know I’ve been only divorced for about a year and that there’s a million other reasons we shouldn’t work but I want it to, I want you.”

Renee stares at unblinkingly for an unnerving amount of time. She sniffs the pansies again. “You made me a whole line of wedding dresses,” she whispers. “You love me.”

Allison waits, she’s been waiting for years, what’s a little longer. A flash of lightning flashes across the sky that neither of them see, followed by a crack of thunder, then the skies open. Allison is still standing on the porch with rain being blown in on her from every direction, sticking to her face and clothes, but she barely notices. Fitting, she thinks, but not derisively. She smiles, a laugh bubbling in her chest.

Then Renee is laughing too, and tossing aside the flowers and lunging at Allison, who catches her expertly. Renee still tastes like cinnamon, but also lemonade and toothpaste. Her lips are chapped but Allison doesn’t care. She squeezes Renee tighter to her, wetting her shirt and running her fingers through her hair.

Renee pulls back and laughs, big and booming. “I love you too,” she says breathlessly. “I love you. I love you.”  
{}  
And if Allison gets to marry the girl of her dreams while they’re both wearing dresses she designed, then that’s the happy ending she’s been working for all her life.

**Author's Note:**

> me: i'm not projecting  
> also me: ruby tuesday's love confessions
> 
> comments and kudos much appreciated, thanks for reading fellow renison starved people. keep an eye out for future renison content


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